Over
by StrongatHeart
Summary: Dylan's thoughts after his and Marco's break-up in SITD.


**Title: Over **

**Disclaimer: Don't own Degrassi**

**A/N: Inspired by** Darco's **"Rainy Tears." Takes place right after Marco and Dylan's phone conversation/break-up. Thought we needed Dylan's take on the break-up. **

Dylan hung up the phone and set it on the table next to his bed. He felt sick and rather dizzy. His head was spinning with a million different emotions, struggling to decide on one. It was as though his heart wasn't sure what to feel, so it was just experiencing everything at once. Finally, he gave up trying to sort it out and collapsed onto his bed.

It was over.

The phrase kept repeating itself in his head. It was all over. Just _over. _After everything, all they'd been through, all they felt for each other, it had ended. There. Then. Like that. And despite the fact that Dylan couldn't forget it if he tried, it was almost impossible to even comprehend.

Dylan wasn't angry with Marco. He didn't blame him one bit. If anything, he decided, it was his fault. His fault for not having more time for him. It wasn't that Dylan didn't love him. It wasn't that at all. It was his ridiculously hectic schedule that was to blame.

He hoped Marco knew that. Dylan had told him, right before they'd hung up. If he never got another chance, he had to say it then. He loved him. Dylan couldn't stand it if the Italian ever thought he didn't. Marco meant more to him than anything in the world. Dylan would do anything for him.

He never thought you could miss someone so much it hurt. But he did. He missed his boyfriend― ex-boyfriend, now― with such an intensity that it was a constant pain in his chest. It felt as though someone had ripped his heart out and used it as a hockey puck substitute. In other words, it ached. His heart ached for Marco.

Dylan wondered what had made him do it. Perhaps it was simply the strain of the long-distance. He'd like to think so. Because anything else he didn't want to think of. Nevertheless, unbidden thoughts and images made their way to the front of his mind. Images of Marco with someone else. Someone else holding his Marco. Touching him. Kissing him. Worst of all, Dylan envisioned Marco, _his _Marco, sharing all the things they used to share with some other guy. Smiling his special Marco smile, the one he'd always saved just for Dylan. Telling some other guy that he was "such a jerk," but that he loved him so much anyway. Or having one of those moments they used to have, late at night, when both of them were awake and they just laid there holding each other in silence.

Theirs. It was all _theirs. _The idea of Marco with some other guy…some random, less-than-adequate guy who didn't deserve him…filled Dylan with a rage bordering on dangerous.

No. The long-distance had just gotten to be too much. That had to be it. Marco hadn't said anything about another guy, after all. Then again, if he was interested in someone else, would he really tell Dylan that? It wasn't like Dylan didn't trust him or anything. He knew Marco would never cheat, would never even dream of being unfaithful. Marco was fiercely loyal to people, one could almost say to a fault. He was the kind of person that, once he decided he loved you, you had him forever. Being loved by Marco was like signing a binding contract, with the only way to break it being to break his heart. Being the idiot that he was, Dylan had done that once, in a spell of stupidity. Luckily for him, Marco had given him a second chance. And Dylan had thought that, this time, he had signed in permanent ink― excuse the pathetic metaphor.

This time, they had ended things on better terms. It wasn't a spiteful break up. Marco hadn't walked away with anger and betrayal in his eyes, and Dylan hadn't been left standing there feeling as though the sun had suddenly been extinguished.

But why, then, did it feel as though everything in the world had gone dark? Just because they hadn't parted with bitter words didn't mean that no hearts were broken, that no pain was felt. It did hurt. Missing him hurt. Losing him hurt.

Suddenly, it hit him. For real. Like a two-fifty pound plus hockey player knocking him to the ground.

Marco was gone.

He was gone and that was it. Dylan may never get to see him again. It was a very likely possibility that he would never get to see the love of his life again. _The love of his life. _That meant the one person in the world who he loved more than anything. The one person who made him feel lucky to be alive, just because that meant he could spend the minutes he was given with the one he loved.

And now here he was. On the other side of the world from that love, with God knew how many thousands and thousands of miles between them. And what did he have now, anyway? Hockey. At that moment, Dylan truly, sincerely wished he had never been given that opportunity. It just wasn't worth it. How could shooting pucks into a net possibly compare to feeling Marco's lips caress his as they shared a passionate moment? Or feeling his love's skin beneath his fingertips as Dylan touched his face? Or simply listening to Marco breathe next to him?

In all actuality, it was really thanks to the Italian that he was here in the first place. He doubted he would have come if it weren't for Marco telling him he had to. The in-your-face irony of it all made Dylan want to scream.

Instead, he did something he hadn't done for longer than he could even remember.

He cried.

Now, Dylan was not exactly the gay stereotype. If any of his teammates saw him lying there sobbing into his pillow, he shuddered to think what they would say. But this hurt. This more than hurt. It was a pain so intense that it overtook him, drowning out everything else. They couldn't even imagine.

He heard the door open and immediately fell silent. He knew without even looking that it was his team-and-room-mate, Scott. If he didn't talk and didn't move, he could just pretend he was asleep.

"Dylan?" Scott asked hesitantly. Dylan didn't budge. "Look, I know you're not sleeping. Don't bother trying to fake it."

Dylan sighed, still not looking up from his pillow. Just because he knew he wasn't sleeping, didn't mean Scott had to know he was crying.

"How could you tell?" Dylan asked curiously, his voice slightly muffled by the pillow.

"You snore when you sleep, man. And loud," explained Scott.

"Oh." Dylan heard him cross the room and drop onto his bed. Maybe he'd just go to sleep, no questions asked.

"What's wrong with your face? Did you shave your eyebrow again or something?"

"There's nothing wrong with my face." On the last word, much to Dylan's chagrin, his voice failed to adopt the indifferent tone he'd been going for, and cracked painfully.

"Whoa, dude, are you _crying?" _There was a creaking of the mattress of the bed opposite Dylan's, and he was pretty sure Scott had just bolted upright in disbelief. Giving up, Dylan turned his tear-stricken face sideways to face his roommate. "Maybe."

"What happened? Are you hurt or something?"

"Or something."

"Well, are you okay?"

Dylan sighed again, resigning himself to the fact that he was just going to have to tell him, as much as he didn't want to. Saying it would make it real. It was stupid how saying something made it seem final, even when you knew perfectly well it already was. However, stupid or not, it was the way it was.

"Marco broke up with me," he croaked.

Scott's voice filled with sympathy. "Your boyfriend?"

Dylan nodded miserably.

"Oh. Sorry, man. That sucks. What happened?"

"Long-distance, I guess," Dylan said shortly. He really did not want to get into this right now. He just wanted to sleep. Maybe, if he was lucky, he would dream about Marco. And just for a few blissful seconds everything would be okay again.

"Yeah, it can be tough on relationships. You want to…talk, or― whatever?" Scott offered. Dylan almost smiled. Almost. He could tell his friend was trying to "be there" for him.

"Nah. I'll be fine." Dylan couldn't remember ever telling a bigger lie. Nothing about the situation was fine. Nothing would ever be fine again if he never got to see Marco.

Dylan rolled over to face the wall. It was covered with various hockey posters, but all he could see through his tear-filled eyes were a few blurred outlines. He closed his eyes, and a few more tears leaked out from under his eyelids.

As he fell into that drowsy, calm state right before sleep, Dylan was slightly surprised to hear his own words being echoed back to him inside his head, seemingly out of nowhere. He supposed he shouldn't have been so shocked, considering what was on his mind at the moment.

_Everything comes down to you and me. Everything. _

Dylan didn't pretend to be right about a lot of things. In fact, he was usually dead wrong. But just this once, he hoped with everything he had that he had been right. If he was, then that meant one thing for certain.

It would never be over.

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A/N: Cause it's so not over. Not even close.


End file.
